


Presque Vu

by blazingphoenix



Category: Fringe
Genre: Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 11:03:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazingphoenix/pseuds/blazingphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something about the drawing that's familiar, and he knows it; he just doesn't know what.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Presque Vu

There's a nudging feeling in the back of Peter's head as he looks at the paper, at the black lines that dress the page to form a simple flower.  Each stroke is precise, serves a purpose, there to tell the story of a thousand words.  The shape itself is familiar, and the meaning is too, both there in his mind yet neither want to make themselves known in his mouth.

Presque vu, as the saying goes, a saying that he's never really liked.

There's a squeal from upstairs followed by a splash, and he hears Olivia laugh in shock before mock-threatening their daughter into the bath.  There's the pattering of feet as Etta tries to make a break for it, though the giggles that fill the air tells him she failed.  He smiles at the noise they make.

Turning the envelope over again, he sees _W.Bishop_ printed nicely on the now torn flap, though the rest of the return is illegible.  Walter never does things without meaning, something Peter's come to learn over the years the hard way.  He runs his thumb over the lines, over the words written in a different ink than the paper.  There's something about this that should be clicking, but he can't seem to think what.

He stands there for awhile, lost in his thoughts as he tries to draw connections, link one thought to another.  There is something about the flower that he knows he must know, because Walter is trying to tell him something through this, except he doesn't know what.  He knows there's a memory, that there must be a memory, to which Walter wanted him to relate this to, but if it's there it's not coming forward and Peter frowns at himself in annoyance.

There's the thumping of feet down the stairs, and Etta is dripping water from her wet hair.  Only wrapped in her yellow bathrobe, she looks barely dry with a thin sheen of water still on her.  There's another rumble down the stairs and Olivia appears, wet patches all over her shirt and pants that she herself looks like she's hopped in the bath.

Olivia shouts at her daughter to come back immediately, but there's a twinkle in her eyes that gives her away, and the smile that breaks across her face when their daughter sticks out her tongue precedes her chasing, arms wide as Etta screams in laughter.  The young girl runs, towards her father, and Peter becomes alarmingly aware that she won't stop.

The envelope and paper are dropped quickly as Henrietta jumps, straight into her father's arms and onto his chest.  Her wet hair sticks to his shirt, the gray turning dark as the water spreads out.  The sound of her laughter is muffled by his shoulder, where she has pressed her head into as Olivia comes to stand beside him.  She's grinning at Peter as she reaches for her daughter's sides, pressing lightly and quickly at the area below the ribs, releasing another wave of giggles from Etta.  The young girl wiggles in his arm, and he slowly puts her down.

She's looking down as her feet touch the floor, and Peter traces her line of sight to Walter's drawing.  She bends down and picks it up, constantly shifting her grip as the paper falls limply backwards.  There's frown on her face that draws her eyebrows together, makes her cheeks puff out that slight more.

"Tu-lip," Etta says carefully, forming the two syllables very precisely with her mouth.  She smiles happily at herself.  "Grandad taught me."  She shuffles away, between the two adults, moving towards the kitchen on her bare feet.

Peter looks back at the drawing, returned into his hand.  He remembers something someone once said to him, in his long forgotten childhood past.  The memories blur together, but he remembers a sea of white tulips, and a soft voice telling him, ' _Sometimes the world we have is not the world we want.  But we have our hearts and our imaginations to make the best of it_.'  He frowns.

Then something clicks.

"Walter."  There's no reason for the name to sound so foreign in its pronunciation, but he feels a rise of panic build as he says it, fear curdling in the back of his head.  "Walter," Peter repeats, his heart beating just that slightly faster.  He catches Olivia's eyes when he finally looks up, away from the paper _tulip_ in his hand.  "Walter."

He feels a sense of dread, a fear of the unknown, as his mind thinks of what Walter is trying to say.  He still doesn't know the meaning, but there's a growing thought consuming him with worry as he frets.  It's an ingrained reaction after losing his father the ways he has, and Peter scrambles for a phone.

It's still on the tip of his tongue when the tone starts to ring.

**Author's Note:**

> Presque vu - a French phrase usually used to describe when something is on the 'tip of the tongue'. Literally translates to 'almost seen'.


End file.
